


fall and i'll catch you

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 06:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14636193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: peter is having an off day





	fall and i'll catch you

The early sunlight filters through the half pulled blinds of the bedroom window. It oozes all over the room, dancing against the walls and door, falling over items dotted around the teenager’s room.  
It floods over his body, the small warm feeling prickling against his skin, and when it comes to rest across his face, does it wake Peter up.  
  
The small amount of sunlight against his closed eyes seem too bright. The soft orange morning sunlight seems to burn his eyes, and instead of getting up to pulls the blinds down, he pulls his blanket over his head to shield himself from it, groaning as he does so.  
  
He feels too hot underneath here. It’s stuffy and uncomfortable. He turns over, facing the wall squeezing his eyes as hard as possible, still feeling as if the light outside his bedroom is too much.  
  
He almost falls asleep when he hears a noise. He jolts up, quickly, almost smacking his head against the metal bars of his bunk bed above him, heart pounding rapidly against his ribs, when he listens again and realises it’s just the sound of the creaky floorboard outside May’s room.  
  
He goes still, and hears the sound of his aunt pottering about the apartment; the sounds of her walking across old hardwood loud to his sensitive hearing. He lets out a breath of relief and flops back down, his head hitting the pillow softly.  
He could try getting another hour of sleep, it’s only six, but then he gets the unbearable smell of gas, and then bacon and he feels sick.  
  
May must be cooking breakfast, he thinks. Probably a nice cooked breakfast with bacon and sausage, but he can smell it all from his room with the door closed, and it’s so strong it makes his stomach churn; the smell of cooking fat, burning gas and bubbling oil causes him to groan in frustration.  
  
This is one of those days.  
  
One of those days where his body becomes overloaded with everything at once. Every sense in his body is on high alert this morning, and Peter hates it.  
There were so many perks by getting bitten by a radioactive spider; the cool new powers, getting to be a part of the Avengers (almost, kinda) and generally fun in itself.  
  
But the one downside that Peter had discovered was that whatever mutation that had happened to his body with the spider had bit him wasn’t just being able to stick to walls; it was that everything had been dialled to eleven in his body.  
  
His hearing was as good as a dogs, his eyesight as sharp as a hawks; and on more than most days he’d been able to cool it down when needed. But on some days, like this, his body went against everything he’d taught it to do, and just jump to the highest setting possible.  
  
He stared up at the bunk bed above him. He should probably get up and start getting ready for school, there was no way he was skipping school because his body was being a bitch, so he pulled himself out of bed and groggily made his way to join his aunt in the kitchen.  
  
Except he didn’t make it that far, because as soon as he opened his bedroom door, it was like a tidal wave of hell had hit him, as he made a dive for the bathroom, only gracefully making it with seconds to spare.  
  
The bathroom wasn’t much better in here. The walls were to white it hurt his eyes, there was the horrible smell of bleach and he could swear he could taste it on the end of his tongue.  
  
He flushed the toilet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up slowly. He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them when he felt May approach him from behind him,  
  
“Pete, honey, are you alright?” she asked softly and Peter was grateful her tone was so soft and delicate, because the growing headache against his skull was only getting worse.  
  
“Uh, yeah – I’m okay. I’m fine.” He lied to her, turning to face her with a pained smile. His throat felt scratchy and sore. A bout of the flu added on top of this spidey senses overload really wasn’t going to be much help.  
  
“Peter don’t lie to me. Go back to bed, you look awful.” She frowned at him, reaching up to brush a curl off his forehead.  
  
“May, honestly, I’m okay.” He tried reassuring her, but even his own voice was too loud for his pounding head, and he started to sway on the spot.  
  
“Okay sure, I’ll believe that when sharks walk on land. Go on. Bed, now.” She demands with a firm but gentle voice, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him,  
  
She guides him from the bathroom back to his room when he gives her a small grin,  
“You know – much like our own evolution, maybe in a couple million years we _will_ have sharks walking on land.”  
  
May shoots him a look and Peter gives a weak laugh,  
  
“You’re lucky you’re sick, you know.” she smiles warmly, helping him get back into bed,  
  
Peter does respond, instead closing his eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he feels the sun burn him again.  
  
“Too bright in here?” May seems to read his mind. Maybe she has her own powers.  
  
“Yeah, could you – “ Peter begins, opening his eyes gently only stopping when he sees May pulling the blinds down, engulfing the room in almost darkness, save for the small amount of light coming from the hallway.  
  
“Thanks.” He murmurs in a sleepy voice, closing his eyes comfortably again.  
  
“Want me to get you something?” she asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  
  
Peter shakes his head; he can’t stomach the idea of food right now, and even though he can only smell the faint stench of slightly cold bacon in the kitchen, it’s still enough to make him need to throw up again.  
  
His mouth feels too dry though,  
  
“Maybe a glass of water though, please.” He whispers.  
  
“Okay baby, just get some rest okay.” She whispers back, and this time she ducks down to press a kiss into his hair.  
  
Her long hair tickles his arm as she bends forward and he can smell the  faint traces of her perfume from yesterday on her pyjamas. She smells like warm. Peter likes that.  
  
“Call me if you need me, okay?” She tells him, getting up and making her way to the door.  
  
Peter just nods at her, too tired to open his mouth, and watches her leave the room, shutting the door with a soft click.  
  
He probably won’t get much sleep anyway; not when he can hear her so loudly in the rest of the apartment, not that it’s her fault. So he tries to sleep, squeezing his eyes shut trying to block everything out.  
  
The window is locked shut but he feels like he can hear almost every conversation in the entire city. He can taste the taste of the burger van that sits a few roads down, almost as if were in his mouth, and can smell the cooked meats. Everything is too much and he hates it.  
  
He should probably text Happy to tell him he’s not feeling too good and won’t be out patrolling tonight; not that Happy will read it. Or care.  
  
But Peter being Peter, doesn’t want something like this to hinder his superhero duties. Spider-Man can’t just stay in bed all day because he’s feeling a little run down. All he has to do is get away from May, slip out the window and get back to work. He’s sure that once he’s out swinging across the streets of New York he’ll be feeling miles better.  
  
Just as Peter is thinking this, the door creaks open loudly and Peter turns his head to see May stood in the doorway with a tall glass of water in her hand. She walks across the floor, every footstep echoing in Peter’s head, before she reaches the bed and sits on the edge of it, passing the water to him,  
  
“Sip it slowly, it’ll make you feel better.” She whispers to him as he sits up in bed to take the water from her.  
  
He does as he’s told and take baby sips from the cool water. It slips down his throat and eases some of the soreness there and he smiles greatly at her as she takes the glass back, placing it on the bedside table.  
  
She brushes his curls from his forehead and gives him a small smile,  
  
“Better?”  
  
Peter smiles, “Yeah, loads, thanks.”  
  
“Good,” May says, standing up from the bed, “because I need to leave for work, and I can stay if you need me, but –“ she begins to ramble but Peter stops her, taking her hand in his,  
  
“May, I’ll be okay here by myself, go to work, I’m okay.” He reassures her with a deep smile.  
  
She sighs before nodding,  
  
“Okay, but any problems, you call me, okay?”  
  
Peter nods, “Of course.”  
  
Once Peter watches his aunt walk to her car from his window, does he pull his mask down. It feels so good to be in the suit. He’s feeling better already.  
  
He makes sure she’s definitely gone, watching her car turn a corner, and he slides the window open. He crawls out, feeling the cool air touch his skin from under the mask.  
  
He looks around, making sure no one is watching him leave his apartment, and when he realises the coast is clear, he slings a web and he’s gone.  
  
Turns out there isn’t really much to do on a Tuesday afternoon. He’s been sat on the edge of a building, his legs dangling over the edge as he watches the city below him bustle with life. His stomach is churning, begging for food as he can smell each meal below him; the smells of fries, burgers, hot dogs and almost every dish in every restaurant. He can even smell the faint traces of seafood which makes him hungry. And he doesn’t even like fish.  
  
But he has no money with him, and he can’t exactly walk into a McDonalds dressed as Spider-Man and expect a Big Mac to be handed over to him for nothing.  
  
He blames himself for emptying his stomach so early this morning; if he hadn’t done that then maybe he wouldn’t be so hungry.  
  
He takes his mask off, taking a deep breath. Everything feels too much still. It’s like he’s feeling the city itself. He’s so high up yet the sound of car engines seem to burn into his head, too loud.  
The suit usually helps with these things, but this added flu symptoms aren’t helping at all.  
  
He goes to stand up, but a car blares his horn somewhere and it’s so loud for his head that he loses his balance.  
  
He goes to regain it, but his foot lands on nothing but air, and before he can even understand what’s happened, does he feel the wind rushing past him. He’s fallen.  
  
He panics, shoots a web, watching it stick to side, the resistance causing his body to jerk violently; his back almost breaking, but he sucks in a shaky breath when he realises he’s no longer falling. He looks down at the street below him and blinks, thinking how close that had been.  
  
He still has his mask gripped tightly in one hand, the web in his other. He wastes no time in pulling himself up. He reaches the top and with shaky hands does he pull himself back onto the roof. He pulls his mask on quickly, sucking in deep breaths.  
  
He closes his eyes.  
  
He can still feel the sun burning brightly behind them. He feels so hungry and so sick, today has sucked. He kinda wants to go home but he also feels as if he needs to stay out here.  
  
It’s only been a month since the airport incident in Berlin. He needs to prove himself to Mr Stark that he can do this. But as he wobbles again, he starts doubting himself. His head feels light and dizzy, so he shuffles away from the edge of the roof just in case.  
  
His phone pings and when he looks down it’s from Happy. Any other day and Peter would be glad for him to be texting him back, but right now he really isn’t in the mood. He opens it regardless,  
  
_Happy Hogan: saw that you aren’t at school or home. any problems?_  
  
Peter sighs. Of course they’re tracking him.  
  
_Peter: no problem here happy :D had a small cold but im okay now !_  
  
Peter doesn’t exactly like lying to Happy or Mr Stark, but sometimes he needs to tell a small white lie for his own good.  
  
_Happy Hogan: I don’t think sitting on top of a skyscraper in the city is the best thing for a small cold._  
  
Peter frowns at the text, and is about to get ready to write a reply when his phone chimes again, a new text popping up on the screen,  
  
_Happy Hogan: Mr Stark is on his way to collect you. Don’t go anywhere, kid._  
  
Great, Peter thinks. As if this day couldn’t be any worse, now he’s got Mr Stark flying out here to come pick him up and take him home as if he were some sort of _child_.  
A minute passes, more time going by that Peter feels his body growing tired and heavy when he spots Iron Man flying towards him. He tries to stand, but his legs feel so weak underneath him, so he stays sat on the ground.  
  
“Not feeling too good, huh?” Tony’s voice comes from inside the suit, his tone slightly sarcastic, and as Peter takes his Spider-Man mask off from his face, he feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment,  
  
“You didn’t have to come out here and take me home, you know?” Peter speaks, his voice is scratchy and hoarse, it even surprises him.  
  
“I think that’s debatable.” Tony says flatly, just as Peter gives weak cough.  
  
“C’mon kid, I think it’s time we head home, don’t you think?” Tony asks him, but Peter shakes his head,  
  
“Mr Stark, come on, I’m fine, just a little cold is all.” He protests, standing to his feet in a wobbly manner,  
  
“Peter –“ Tony starts but Peter cuts him off instead,  
  
“An hour out here, keeping an eye on things’ll make me feel better.” Peter tries to convince him, raising a brow over at the man in the suit, but Tony just sighs,  
  
“I’m sure the city will be just fine if you crawl back into bed for the rest of the day.” Tony tells him.  
  
Peter groans in frustration, and flaps his arms down by his side, and just as Mr Stark goes to make another adult remark about acting like a baby, does a wave of dizziness suddenly hit him,  
  
“-and besides, if anything crazy like robot aliens goes down I’m sure the big boys can take care of it, so for now, Mr Parker, I’m escorting you home.”  
  
Peter is only half listening, the blood rushing to his head, pumping into his ear drums as he swallows thickly; everything is too much again and his head is swarming with it.  
  
“Are you even listening to me?” he hears Tony ask him, and he weakly nods his head,  
  
“Good. Now can you make your way down or do you need a lift home?” Tony asks him with a gentle tone.  
  
Peter walks to the edge of the building, his toes peeking over the side dangerously. He sucks in a breath,  
  
“I think I can make my own home, Mr Stark.”  
  
And just before he can hear what response he has to give back, he passes out.  
  
When he wakes up his eyes feel heavy in his head, and his mouth is dry. He opens his eyes and realises he’s at home, staring up at the metal bars of his bunk bed.  
He tries to sit up, but there’s a heavy hand on his chest pushing him gently back down,  
  
“Easy, tiger.” Tony’s voice whispers.  
  
“Crap.” Peter murmurs as his head sinks back down into the pillow,  
  
“Crap indeed. You passed out and fell off the edge of the building. Again.”  
  
Peter just closes his eyes. He hears Tony shuffle in his seat on the edge of the bed beside him.  
  
“Don’t tell Aunt May?” Peter asks him, looking up at Tony with pleading eyes, but Tony just gives a short quiet laugh,  
  
“Trust me, no one is telling Aunt May.” Tony reassures him with a warm smile.  
  
“Thanks.” Peter whispers closing his eyes again, feeling the energy drain from his body slowly turn into sleep.  
  
“Get some sleep, okay bud?” Tony says, awkwardly patting his forearm and Peter just nods sleepily.  
  
“Thanks Mr Stark.” Peter mumbles again in his half sleep state, as Tony gets up from his seat.  
  
He makes his way to the door, and pauses in the doorway to look back round at the sleeping teen,  
  
“Anytime, Pete.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is set between civil war and homecoming :)


End file.
